Into the Wind
by Kigomae
Summary: I don't know why I did it. As I watched her there in the middle of the circle, I remembered what it was like. Her eyes were locked with mine and I knew that I was going to save her. How could I not save her from this eternal damnation?
1. Eating Death

Into the Wind  
By: Kigomae

Summary: Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater, and he is determined to uphold his family's honor. But when he sees something happening before his eyes, something more wrong then killing any muggle or mudblood, there is nothing he can do to stop it. For once he is powerless. All he can do is take a chance. All he can do is run. All he can do is jump… _Into the Wind._

Chapter One: Eating Death

**I**_n the_ past and in the present there are moments which are infinitely lost. They are forever gone from this world and you are left in the next one, never to remember that the last one occurred. You will move on through your life as of you didn't live that one moment and yet in that instant your whole existence could have been shifted. If that unmemorable, insignificant moment had not taken place you could be anywhere, doing anything. Anywhere but where you are, anything but what you're doing.

My own mind was wondering among these moments as I sat in the library, not once thinking that I was missing out on something else by making this time an unmemorable one. But my world was shifting- however unaware I was- right beneath my stumbling feet. I looked composed enough, I suppose, reading some potions book or another. But somewhere in my mind I was tripping and falling and crawling about as the foundation of the earth crumbled.

Inside my robes, in a pocket deep within its folds, a letter burned fiery hot against my thigh, screaming for me to read, just please read it one more time just to make sure it was all as real as I believed it was. My fingers itched to touch the parchment on which my fate was sealed in black ink and scratchy handwriting. The handwriting of my father and the undeniably bold, fearless family crest. A dragon, my namesake, enveloping a flaming letter **_M_**.

I contained myself beneath a masquerade of indifference, letting my eyes scan the same page of the book over and over again. A Malfoy did not dance around like a giddy child or even read a letter over and over again in excitement. I was restricted by my family honor, frustrated by it, even. But I remained true to it, for I knew that without that honor I would be nothing and the letter I had received would also be only that: Nothing.

And so those moments of revolutionary nothing slipped by me endlessly. I had to pass the hours somehow. I had time, so much time, to do anything until my destiny found me. The time was longer then I had hoped for. One thousand five hundred and forty hours away. Sixty five days. Nine weeks. Two months and some odd days away.

My mind wondered over the distance of time, imagining how it would be, imagining the power of it coursing through my veins. This was my destiny, the world as I knew it would end as soon as my adulthood was initiated. I would be the ruler of my fate, of the fate of the Malfoy bloodline, and the fate of the purebloods.

It did not occur to me that I was placing as much blind faith into one night as I was or that I was piling my shoulders with insurmountable tasks. It was becoming doubtful that the Dark Lord could defeat this world of impurities, let alone a fifteen year old boy. But it never seemed to faze me that I could be weaker then I supposed. I was superior to all these mudbloods and dirty traitors, of that there was no doubt at all.

Outside the castle I could hear the wind howling and the rain pounding, a sign that winter was not all that far off. It was not yet cold enough for snow, but soon fall would end and my favorite season would begin. This winter excited me beyond all conscious reason. As my gaze shifted to the window I could not keep myself from smiling. Finally, something to be happy about.

I even chuckled to myself as I stood and closed the book, shoving it back into my book bag. I had never even dreamed of looking forward to something this much. This one thing had always seemed off in the distance, a thing for the future. And now the future was here. I felt confident that I was becoming exactly what I wanted to be when I walked out of the library. I walked proudly and did not stop to torment the sniveling first years that scurried past me.

But as I rounded the corner I did stop.

"I mean, come on Hermione, you have to admit that she's a bloody hag, even if she _is _a teacher!"

"I can admit no such thing, Harry. A teacher cannot be evil. She just cannot," Granger said feverishly, shaking her head back and forth. Her hair swished about her face in a bushy mass and her lips were tight against her once-beaver teeth.

"Barty Crouch was better then her!"

"Absolutely not. That man was not qualified to pass on his knowledge. He was nothing but an imposter!"

"Yes, but she must be also," he replied.

"Harry, not every Defense against the Dark Arts teacher is a follower of Voldemort."

"I know that, Hermione."

I almost laughed. They were all so worried about the Dark Lord. They fretted over Professor Umbridge being a death eater- which was laughable- and they had no clue that they had worse things to cope with. I mean, here I was, the heir to a pureblood throne of darkness, and they condemned some fat, powerless old woman? I snorted and turned to walk away. If this was all they could come up with, then these last years here at Hogwarts would be easier then I had imagined.

You could have called my day a good one by that point, and I made my way to the Slytherin Common Room, tempted to whistle but restraining myself. I was well on my way towards establishing myself and my life was headed exactly the way I was steering it. I sat down on the couch and sprawled myself out. Crabbe and Goyle looked at me eagerly.

"Father says I'm the youngest one yet, you know. How did I guess that I was going to be great?"

**O O O  
**

"**W**_ait_ for me here. It won't take long," I breathed into her ear as I slowly backed towards the door.

"You'll be okay. Everything's going to be alright," she whispered, stroking my shoulder gently.

I held her close and tried to ignore the way the wind was drifting in through the kitchen door and murmuring promises against my back. Her hair brushed against my cheek softly and I took a deep breath, squeezing her closer for just one more moment. I _would _remember this moment.

"Tell me you love me," I asked pleadingly, fighting the urge to stay here with her.

She sighed, "I'll be here waiting for you, Draco," she said as she turned away and hurried back into the house, never looking back at me.

I called after her, "You think I'll be okay?"

She turned around and looked straight into my eyes, "I know you will."

I didn't really understand what she meant, at least not right away. That night I was the only thing I was thinking about. My breath came shallow and uneven as I swept my hood up to conceal my mess of blonde hair and my steps were stumbling and unsure. I felt vulnerable and exposed, weaker then I had ever felt before. I did not feel like a man running out to meet his fate. I was a helpless child being pushed in a mysterious direction.

Out beyond the Riddle House, five miles northeast, was a graveyard. The grass was overgrown and the trees were old, huge, gray and ugly. The tombstones were crumbling and covered in moss. Beneath a tree of especially grand size and grayness was what I had been waiting for my entire life. It was what I had been raised to strive for and what I had been taught to worship. A ring of men, clothed in billowing black robes that stood out against the white of the snow beneath their feet. The only sound was the whistle of the wind and the crunch of my footsteps.

They were all gathered ceremoniously around one stone that jutted from the ground at an odd angle. I tried to ignore the way even this trusted circle seemed to be tense and kept themselves well away from the man in the middle of the circle, leaning against the stone as if he were bored. All I could see of him were the pits of his red, red eyes and his flaring nostrils. His gaze fixed on me as I came closer.

The tombstone said Riddle. I shivered as I drew near and the circle of men parted for me. I glanced down at my trembling fingers, long and blue in the moonlight, almost blending with the white of the snow. Eyes stared at me with pride, with jealousy, or with indifference from behind white masks. I yearned to be there, on the inside looking out. I didn't dare look in from the outside. And I was so close. It was the only thing that kept me from fleeing. I could barely register my longing for this moment, let alone my family honor. All the same my eyes flew around the circle, landed on my father, and then scurried away. And then I was finally standing there before the Dark Lord, who sat barely a foot away from me.

"Young Malfoy, what a pleasure it is to have you here," he said quietly. This man did not have to speak loudly. As his voice sprang forth you could not help but listen.

I bowed my head respectfully and cleared my sticky throat, "Thank you, milord," I said.

"I must explain a few things to you, boy. I am sure you will listen," he began and I nodded, "I will be short with you. I will kill you and bleed you dry if you so much as _think _about betraying me. I expect you to be dutiful and do as you are ordered. This is not a game, it is a war."

I nodded again soundlessly, for there seemed to be no words I could use as a response. I tried to gather enough saliva to pry my tonsils apart, but gave up as I was beckoned closer to the tombstone. The Dark Lord now stood at his full height, at least a foot taller then I, and I kept my gaze towards the snowy ground. I had no thoughts or feelings that can be remembered or expressed in those moments. He placed my wrist against the stone carelessly.

What I remember is watching his hands. They were despicable compared to my own, which I kept neat and clean. I could see his purple little veins and capillaries winding beneath a saggy lining of skin and above sharply protruding bones. His nails were long and curling, yellow and scratchy as he wrapped his fingers around my wrist. I did not understand why there was suddenly blood running across his left fingers, his own blood, or why it was so quickly being absorbed by his long wand.

I did not understand until the tip of the wand was against my forearm and I could see the winding little ropes of his blood plunging through my flesh. It didn't hurt; there was just a faint tickling sensation. It still did not hurt as I could feel it struggling through my own veins. I barely felt anything for a whole minute. But as I marked its path across my chest an aching tension began to build at the very core of me. I was not prepared for my true initiation.

Suddenly it was there. Me, my body, my spirit, my soul was being ripped to shreds. A rush of images swamped my mind. Death after death after death, feelings: anger, frustration, elation, depression, defeat. I was going in all different directions, here, there, everywhere.

_A Locket._

_A Cup._

_A Ring._

_A Diary._

_A Staff._

_A Crown._

I was everywhere, in everything. Pictures of each thing flashed into my mind and I felt each one, saw it as it died and withered with me inside of it. I could not help the screams and whimpers that escaped me and I was helpless to the sneers that I received for my weakness from all directions. A small part of him was _in me,_ and I felt like weeping as I unconsciously clawed at my chest, trying to get it out. I was no longer Draco Nigellus Malfoy, but some monster.

I collapsed to the ground with one last shout, a name that I had never heard. Merope, I saw her face. She had one lazy eye and a fragile, helpless look about her. I clenched handfuls of snow in my fists and let my shameful tears fall onto the ground. I could not move at all, save for the trembling of my shoulders as I vomited. I did not have a moment to feel the shame. When I looked up they were all gone and a white mask had been thrown down beside me.

I got haltingly to my feet. I felt betrayed by all those that had told me everything would be okay. I felt empty. The grudge I had silently been holding against my father exploded. Why had he not prepared me for this? Tears were still streaming down my cheeks. I looked down at the mask dangling from my fingers and fumbled with the strap. I concealed my grieving face beneath that mask of white and put my hood up around my face.

I was looking out from the inside. And everything looked the same. The snow was still white, the sky was still scattered with frosty stars and the moon still shone brightly. The bare trees still looked imposing and my hands still looked blue and unsteady. I could not accept that my destiny had come and gone and everything around me was… the same.

I sank slowly to the ground and let my head fall into a pillow of snow. I watched as clouds- the same old clouds- overcame the sky. I watched as I was enveloped in a blanket of snow and knew that I would not keep my promise to Pansy. I would not be back soon. I buried my masked face in my arms and let myself go away.

I became a Death Eater my fifth year. December 24, 1995.


	2. I am Human

Into the Wind  
By: Kigomae

Chapter Two: I am Human

"**D**_umbledore_ is dead."

I trembled beneath that familiar, scathing gaze. Tightly grasped in my fingers was the small wizard pocket watch that had been the port key to the old Riddle House. Snape's grip was painfully tight on my shoulder, so much so that I winced and looked away from the Dark Lord in shame. He sat in a throne-like chair in the foyer, wrapped soundly in red velvet robes as if he were cold in the warm summer air that surrounded us. His face, untouched by mask or shadow, was pale and blue, the skin wrinkled and veiny. I fell to my knees beneath the pressure of Snape's hand.

The humiliation was unbearable. Hundreds of loyal eyes peering at me from behind their masks as if I were an outsider, a trader. But in my mind I knew I was not. That was the only reason I could bear to look up at Voldemort and take what punishment or congratulations he would give me. There was never a true change of expression on his face and so I had no clue what was coming. But I was sure it would not be good. There was no doubt that he new of my cowardice.

"Young Malfoy, what a pleasure," he said with a smirk.

"Milord," I bowed deeper; "I trust you are well?"

"I must say that I am overjoyed… To some degree," he replied, his eyes transforming into red slits.

Snape took this as my cue to leave. I was shoved through the doorway to the parlor and left to do whatever I wished. Obviously I had displeased Voldemort, being the milksop that I was. I fell gracelessly onto the outdated silk settee, my legs sprawled comfortably and my head falling uselessly to the side. Despite my exhaustion, my mind would not stop its frantic racing. I supposed I could not get in too much trouble, seeing as Dumbledore was dead either way. But I was almost positive that they had never meant for me to finish this task at all.

It had been a long year.

My eyes flitted about the familiar objects of the room. How many times had I sat here feeling doomed to perdition? None of that mattered at the moment, I just wanted to go home. My hair fell in front of my bloodshot eyes in some sort of sticky mess and my fingers still trembled around the watch, which I was beginning to doubt I would ever let go. I had been sensibly terrified of the Forbidden Forest for the past six years. Recovery from traipsing about the woods for an eternity was slow in coming.

We had traveled about for days, hunted, unable to reach the shelter of the Dark Lord for fear of leading the aurors straight to him. Our eventual safety had come in the strange old mansion we had come upon in the forest. It was huge and deteriorating, yet somehow charming in its old world elegance. Although he had not said it, I was sure that this was Severus Snape's ancestral home, falling into ruin in this new, bloodless age. I would never remember much of my time there, only brief glimpses and odd feelings. I could not recall how long the time had been. It seemed that time did not exist there in the Forbidden Forest. But we had stayed there a length of time, no doubt a long one, until it was safe for us to find the port key, hidden near Hogsmeade.

My glance strayed longingly to the fireplace. When could I ever return to Malfoy Manor? I would go by any means possible. I would walk if I must. Home just sounded exceptional. Of course I knew it was a foolish thought, but that had never stopped me before. I fancied for a moment, but obviously that didn't last long. As usual my thoughts were interrupted as Snape came in blustering angrily.

I did not listen to a word that came out of his mouth. Something about evil and my mother, but my head was crowded, uncomfortably so. I could not get the image of Dumbledore's wearied face, betrayed, doubtful, out of my mind. Not once had I seen such vulnerability in the headmaster of Hogwarts. What's more shocking was that I had most certainly forced the expression there in the first place. I was almost pleased with my diabolic nature. Almost.

Not really knowing how to go about sulking, I sat there looking the fool as Snape spluttered on. But my ear caught on his words as honor came into play. Family honor. My eyes snapped towards him, daring him to place my honor into question. It was the only thing that mattered to me. It was the only reason I persisted in my treachery. My satisfaction and ego reveled in the honor I received, which I knew I could receive no other way.

"Your father would be disgusted with you for that scene back at the castle. I cannot even begin to describe the _absurdit-_"

I was close to chuckling when I rose clumsily from the settee, "Do not speak of my father as if you know what he would think of me! It would not take something as overblown as my _cowardice _to shame him! Why, show a bit of _weakness, _a bit of _pain, _ah, then he would be angry. My honor has nothing to do with his approval. It has to do with my own!"

I shuddered as I fell back into my seat, looking down at the floor to the place where I had dropped the watch. It was cushioned in the red carpet, buried in the plush velvet that only the shiniest galleon could buy, and many of them at that. Funny that I had never even acknowledged the carpet, or rather any of my rich surroundings. I tore my gaze from the watch to look up at Snape. But he was gone.

I was left desperately alone, realizing for once that there was not a single picture hanging from the walls of the Riddle house.

**O O O**

**B**_oarding_ under the Dark Lord's roof was most often restless and unpleasant. Above my head I could hear the scurrying feet of the rats in the attic, and a cold power radiated through the walls, causing me to wrap the blankets tighter around me. Everything in the room was black and ancient, the draperies around the bed hanging like wraiths above my head. I shifted uncertainly, closing my eyes against the unnerving interior design choices that seemed to be everywhere.

The world was not any less bleak behind closed eyes. I scratched my ear in annoyance and flipped onto my stomach, trying to find any path that would lead to my few blissful hours of rest. I felt a discreet nausea in the pit of my stomach, a feeling I knew all to well. I got it each time I was not in my dominant element, when I was at home or when I was here at the Riddle house. It was the feeling that told me I was desperate to be back at Hogwarts, my head on my familiar feather pillow. It was the only place I felt the power I craved, the control I desperately believed I deserved.

My fist pounded at the cotton-stuffed pillow in an attempt to make it more accommodating, but it prevailed in the end as my head sank straight through its thin mass to rest on the mattress. It was not long before I gave up in my endeavor of peace and threw the blankets off of me, stalking to the fireplace and hurling fireballs at the charred logs with my wand. After throwing in a few fresh logs, I sank into the plush easy chair before the fire.

My head fell like a brick of led into my hands, my body relaxing into the contours of the chair. I could barely stand the smell of myself but by then I could not even lift my head, let alone cast a cleaning charm. My wand was feet away, sitting in the open on the coffee table. I was suddenly drained, but of course my mind was hard at work. I felt myself straining against the bonds of sleep that I had been striving for mere moments before.

"This is insanity…" I murmured absently to myself.

I had always wondered what it was like. This was it, this maddening frustration building beneath my skin. I felt myself sink lower into the welcoming cushions beneath me, melting into the comfort of it. My last sight before my eyes fell closed like shutters against the world was my hair, greasy and unkempt, falling into my face like a veil of mourning.

**O O O**

"**O**_h __God_, it's all over me!"

I heard the sob that pulled me through a sea of darkness as if the mouth of hell were whispering into my very ear. Some sublime being was calling to me through the hazy mists of sleep, beckoning me with a voice of reason and reality. I followed the voice out into the open air of the waking world and gasped for a breath of realism as it dawned on me exactly where I was, exactly how I had gotten there.

My eyes opened to a void of darkness, deeper then the inside of my eyelids, more startling then the soft nothingness that overcame everything during sleep. The comforting fire had gone cold hours ago, even the coals extinguished beneath the blanket of night. I sat up in my seat slowly, blinking and gripping the arms of the chair.

Had the voice been my dream, so prominent that it had awoken me as if it were real? My ears strained against the sudden silence that filled the space around me, listening intently for any sound. I must have sat there for a full minute, squinting and quivering in the effort it took to remain still. Finally I let myself fall back into the chair. I really was going insane.

But then from just outside the door, "This is ridiculous! Release me this instant! Oh, please just let me use a washcloth or something…"

I froze in my place and felt the tension creep back up my spine as the stumbling footsteps came closer and stopped clumsily in front of my door. There was a grunt of effort, the creaking of aging hinges, and a gasp of indignation. A thump came, along with a blinding strip of light from the hallway.

"Malfoy," a gruff voice barked impatiently, "Make sure this 'ere lady gets right cleaned up. She's got 'erself a date with the Dark Lord 'imself."

I did not get a chance to reply as the door slid back into place and the light was gone. A soft moan came from somewhere on the floor. I sat for a moment, unsure about what I should do. At last I decided I should start a fire, so I could at least see what was going on. I fumbled around in the darkness for my wand and sent a jet of flame to the fireplace, waiting a moment for it to get started and then turning towards the place where the moans and grumblings were coming from.

A small trembling form lay on the hardwood floor near the door, crumpled into a ball of blood-soaked black robes. The girl's hair was a mass of tangles around her face, hidden by her hands, which were covered in a coating of clotting blood. I shoved back my own hair, feeling more put together in the presence of the mess before me. Compared to her I was on the clean side, from the look of her robes.

I listened impatiently to the deep sigh that came from the girl, scowling. "Get up. Come on, I don't have all day and obviously neither do you. Stop blubbering like an idiot and come up from there."

I heard something that sounded similar to the colliding words of merpeople come from behind the hands. My scowl deepened to a fierce frown.

"If you continue to hinder my correspondence with orders I will be forced to find other means to acquire your cooperation."

The girl's hands rubbed at her face in frustration, "I said shove it up your arse, ferret! I don't want to deal with you right now!"

My wand dropped a fraction of an inch and I felt my face go slack, "What did you just say?"

"I said shove it up your arse!"

Hermione Granger's hands fell from her face to ball into angry fists on the floor. She had pulled herself into a kneeling position, her legs folded in a heap beneath her, surrounded by robes that dripped sticky life blood onto the floors in a large puddle. I could no longer breathe and my arms had dropped helplessly to my sides. With the sight of this girl, my enemy, came a rush of images that I had no desire to see.

With this mudblood, a creature who had meant so little to me throughout the years, came wild emotions. The reminders came crashing down on my shoulders. The weight of being separated from everyone around me, hundreds of my peers. The feeling of my own betrayal to a man I had never felt loyalty to. Being surrounded by so many people my age and feeling somehow… Ancient.

My gaze focused intensely on the startled face of Granger, trying to find some trace of my past life, my life at Hogwarts. But I realized suddenly that she was as lost to Hogwarts as I was. Beneath her mask of red was a girl I had never seen before. I sighed and turned away from her as I realized what I was doing. I was seeking comfort from my past life. And what was worse was that I was expecting it to come from the best friend of my most prominent enemy.

Disgusted with myself I tried to appear pleased that I had control over the mudblood at last. But I could not muster the enthusiasm I had once had for torturing her. I glanced over my shoulder at her quivering form and felt nothing but a silent revulsion for her, for her kind. I went back to my chair without looking back at her. I could feel the familiar numbness creeping over me, the one that always followed any emotions more taxing then hatred.

I said nothing for a long while. I just ignored the presence of Hermione Granger and stared at the fire, fighting off the memories, the good memories that still clung desperately in the back of my mind. She began to move about the room, her raging mood calming, as if she had nothing to worry about but cleaning the death from her skin. I did not even move when she pulled a wand out of her pocket. I did not think she could do anything to me that I had not already done to myself.

When the only sound remaining was that of the crackling fire before me I finally turned around to see what was going on. There she lay, buried in the blankets on the bed I had occupied just hours before. I fought my nausea just so that I could look at her there. I wondered why she had suddenly appeared in my life. This mudblood had nothing to do with the life I lead beneath Lord Voldemort.

And now in her presence I could feel nothing but dirty and disgusting. I looked down at myself and then looked back up at her, there in my borrowed bed as if it were hers. She was disgusting, she was dirty. And here I was, knowing that in my skin I was both of those things. My throat filled with bile at the notion. I ran desperately for the window, pulling back the heavy curtains and bursting through the shutters. I knew it was not permitted, to let myself be seen in the Riddle house. But I did not care as all the food I had consumed that day fell to the ground two stories below.

When I finally pulled myself back out of the night air I could no longer contain the emotions that raged through my veins. I tore at the disgusting robes that besieged me and rubbed furiously at my unwashed skin as if blasphemy itself were clinging to me. I ignored the hot tears pouring from my eyes and I slammed my fist into the wall beside me before going limp against it.

I looked up through my veil of hair and saw her there, her eyes clear, calm, and brown as they gazed at me in my most tattered state. She could have no idea that in that moment I was realizing for once what I was. I was no better then any of them. I was dirty. I was disgusting. I was worse then any of them in a way.

My tears fell as I realized what I never had before.

I was human.


	3. Magical Fury

Into the Wind  
By: Kigomae

Chapter Three: Magical Fury

**T**_here_ were books everywhere. On the floor in piles, on the dressers, the side tables, the vanity, the window sills. And there were books on the bed, surrounding the form of Hermione Granger, obviously in her element, which of course, she had created all over my room. I had no clue why all the books were there, seeing as it was impossible that she had read them all, but from beneath my heavy eyelids I drank in the sight, feeling an inevitable growl of disgust slithering its way up my gut.

"What the hell, Granger," I mumbled, prying myself from the chair and blinking slowly, gazing around the room.

She blatantly ignored me as the upper half of her body disappeared over the side of the bed. I scowled as I watched her dangle there recklessly, straining to reach an edition of '_A Historical Study of the Diabolical'_, which she eventually dragged towards her with the tips of her fingers. Silently examining the cover of a book resting on the arm of my chair, I frowned. Throwing it aside, I reached for another. And another.

They all had something or other to do with Dark Magic.

"Granger, these books are not going to save you," I said smugly. No, nothing could save her from the clutches of Lord Voldemort. Not if she was already under his roof, under his watchful eye.

She did not look at me, "I know that."

I looked at her warily for another moment before making a sound- one that I didn't even know I could make- in the back of my throat and exiting the room. But just a short while later, as I stood in the shower, I could not help but give thought to the odd situation. What was going on? That preternatural quality of the dreaming state had enveloped these last hours. I was being too accepting, just as one would be of a dream. Too damn accepting.

My shoulder collapsed against the tiled wall of the shower, my fists clenching at my sides. Confusion drifted over me in waves and I shook my head angrily, trying to dispose of it. Was Granger my captive? I could not say. I could not say anything at that moment, for my state of overwhelming shock was not subsiding. What the hell was going on?

I urgently pushed aside the glass door of the shower and stumbled out. I barely had the sense to grab a towel and wrap it around my waist before sliding out into the hall on wet feet. I did not have enough sense or any of my usual grace as I tripped down the spiral staircase in a fit of panic. What the hell was going on?

I flew through the heavy oak doors that lead into the foyer and skidded to a reluctant stop in the middle of the room. There was no one in the room, save for the Dark Lord, and I tried to hide my embarrassment beneath my frustration. My breath panted from my lungs and my skin flushed red. Where had this gall come from, that I could run half naked before Lord Voldemort? Well, I supposed it had come from fear.

"What the hell is going on?" I asked breathlessly, dropping to my knees in a clumsy bow and letting my eyes plead for an explanation.

The Dark Lord chuckled at me, his red eyes amused. Beneath his gaze I felt like nothing but a quivering child.

But maybe that's all I ever really was.

**O O O**

**I** _could_ feel my eyes drooping as I sat in that same chair an hour later. My entire body trembled and my hands shook so badly that I could barely hold the towel up. The tips of my hair brushed against my cheeks in stiff, spiky tendrils that had never had the shampoo washed out of them. The world around me was only vaguely familiar. I growled viciously at a small stack of books that tumbled into my lap. My anger, and thus my magic, was out of control. The books fell to the floor, the pages floating down after them in tiny scraps of paper.

It took me a moment to realize that there was a figure standing directly in front of me. My eyes troubled to focus on her face, finally acknowledging Hermione Granger, her lips forming a perfectly puckered O of surprise and her eyebrows drawn together. I grunted what I thought was an adequate dismissal, but she hovered ever nearer, her face coming closer to mine with every passing moment.

"Malfoy, are you dying?" she asked blatantly, her hand fluttering out as if to touch my shoulder, but then hesitantly drawing away.

I gave another grunt, which I thought obviously sounded like a no. Her face just came closer. I was sure that the expression on her face should have been glee, but her brown eyes were nothing but hollow orbs, just eyes and nothing more. I had never seen anything like it, and stared with a one minded intensity at them. What was wrong with her? Shouldn't eyes show something… more?

Suddenly her cool fingers and her warm, soft palm were resting against my arm. I couldn't describe what it was like to have someone touch me without hostility, without intent to harm. Something in me caught, some imaginary string snapped in half by that slightest touch. I looked into her calm, emotionless eyes and felt my own blur with tears as they so often did these days. I saw her steady, easy movements and then my own, trembling, jerky ones. She was composed, cool and casual. My world was falling apart.

Shouldn't _her_ world be falling apart? She was a mudblood, stuck under the damning roof of Lord Voldemort. Shouldn't she break down, cry, scream, beg for mercy? Shouldn't I be cold, distant, and superior? The questions flew by and away without ever being answered. No one could answer my questions. Lord Voldemort could not answer my simplest questions, such as explaining why Hermione Granger was in my room. Why could he not make my world clear and intent, as he knew he had the power to do? Why would he not grant me that one thing? Why did this mudblood have a right to be calm, and yet I did not? My anger roared through my veins like liquid fire.

I distantly heard Granger gasp, saw the cuts upon her pale, pale arm. The magic was in my head, in my blood, in my very core. It swirled in torrents throughout my body, a wildfire taking me hostage. I always hated this, this out of control rage. I knew in my mind that it was not me raging, but my magic. Pure magic, it had a mind of its own. It screamed at me. This girl was a mudblood.

Not even I could restrain it as I felt it rush away from my body, leaving me so desperately tired that my eyes were closed in moments. Relief overcame me. It was out. It built up over days and weeks and months. A pressure on my mind that would not ease. But I knew not of the destruction it would cause until it was too late. Sometimes it was nothing… and others times it was not.

I had a feeling as I drifted off and heard the gasping cries as if from a distance, that this was one of those times.

This magic could not be controlled.

And I knew that neither could I.

**O O O**

"**T**_hey_ are magical wounds, Severus. Dark Magic. These will only close with time."

"Damn it," came Snape's furious curse.

My eyes peeled open reluctantly, warming to the gentle glow that came from the crackling fire. I could feel a healthy heat in my cheeks and the relaxed state of my muscles and mind. I felt rested, but most of all I felt released. A weight was off my shoulders. It would not be back for months. I grinned and gave a leisurely stretch. I looked down and frowned. I had never gotten fully dressed. I stood to do so when I was struck with the odd tension that had exploded in the room around me.

"Draco, get some clothes on," snapped Snape, his dark eyes viciously accusing.

I shrugged, "Okay."

I walked to the dresser and threw a set of black robes over my form while discreetly dropping my towel to the floor. After pulling on a pair of slacks I turned back to where Snape stood, pulling my fingers through the rough tangles of my stiff hair. It was then that I noticed the other people in the room. Rookwood stood beside my bed, his pockmarked face pinched in disapproval and his greasy hair falling into his piercing eyes. He was one of the men who believed that I, and every other young death eater, was inadequate. We were not loyal or brave enough in his eyes. I glared at him for a moment.

But then my gaze skittered to the bed. I felt my own eyes widen. My pulse skittered a moment before returning to a normal pace. There was a form in my bed, looking small and encompassed by a mass of green blankets, the huge mattress and canopy seeming to dwarf her into something even smaller. She shivered even beneath the mound of covers, and her skin was pale. There was an angry gash across one of her cheeks, from her ear to her chin. Her small shoulder, barely poking out above the blanket, was covered in similar cuts.

"What happened?" I asked dumbly.

"I do not know, Master Malfoy. Can you not tell us?" Rookwood asked snidely.

I froze. My gaze searched the pallid face of Hermione Granger. There was no pain there, no distress, in fact, no emotions at all. And I remembered. I remembered what had happened, remembered my own rage at her calm demeanor. And then I remembered the magic rushing away from me at full force. So this is what it had done. I looked at Snape, trying to discern whether or not he understood. But I knew he did not.

He was not half as pure as I was.

"Draco, the Dark Lord will be displeased. Miss Granger had plans for tonight, you see. Make her as presentable as possible by midnight tonight," Snape said briskly before stalking from the room, his usual scowl in place. Rookwood followed reluctantly, a smirk planted firmly on his lips.

I took a deep breath and stepped towards the suddenly imposing bed, peering at the girl laying there. The gash was not pretty, the flesh split to reveal the pink and red flesh between the clean, obviously magical cut. The only sign that Dark Magic had induced these cuts were the dark purple veins running away from it in every direction for a few centimeters. There was a similar, smaller cut just above her left eyebrow, the opposite side of her face.

I grimaced at the sight of her bare shoulder. The look of it was horrendous, for there were cuts exactly the same there. I counted six colliding slashes on just her shoulder, all forming a gruesome entanglement of interweaving, sluggishly purple veins. Shuddering at the sight, I lifted the blanket only enough to confirm that they were everywhere. Beneath the blankets she wore nothing, but the sight was not one I took pleasure from. While her form was pleasingly slender, the purple of her veins and the red of her wounds served as coverage. Just the same, I quickly replaced the covers.

Feeling sick with myself, I felt a rare moment of compassion, at which point I found myself gently pushing a mass of tangled, bushy hair away from the girl's face. I sighed, trying to rein in my wayward emotions. How long had my world been tilting this way? Had I never noticed it swaying beneath my feet? I sat gently on the edge of the bed, trying to imagine myself inflicting all of the terrible gashes on her body. I recalled her swift hand across my face then and smirked. How foolish we all were. As if any of our problems could compare to what had been happening so discreetly around us. The world was so much larger, so much more sinister then we had all imagined it was back then.

I had been the enemy for so long, I know. I had thought myself the supreme villain in the tale of our lives at Hogwarts. And no doubt they had thought me evil. But how fickle was that? Compared to Voldemort I was a green young school boy, innocent as I tortured first years and taunted my rivals. I was so weak. If only I had inherited my fathers strength, his immunity to love and warmth. How had I turned out so soft? I had always thought myself cold. Until sixth year that is exactly what I had been. A cold, ruthless bastard.

But the pressure had cracked my reserve. My sixth year had been full of emotional turmoil. I had questioned my own morality, my own honor and my own courage. I had hated myself for questioning the fate I knew I could never escape. I was forever tied to Voldemort, no matter what. Of that there was no question. But my weaknesses had only grown in number as the pressure had built higher on my shoulders. No doubt Voldemort had expected me to crack so he could just get me out of the way. But I had succeeded. I had succeeded in all but murdering a man who had been nothing but kind to me throughout my life.

I loathed him. And yet his home was inevitably my home also. How could I murder him?

I knew that my thoughts were going to deep. Traveling to far down that path could lead to nothing but a frantic fervor of emotions. And suddenly I did not have to travel any further, for my attention was rapt upon Granger as her eyes fluttered open, her expression one of confusion. I laid a hand on her arm, trying to smile but knowing I was failing monstrously. I just stopped, because if I did not I would obviously scare her into thinking I was angry.

"Oooooh." Her moan echoed through my head for a moment and I winced.

"Granger," I murmured, "You must wake and prepare."

"What time is it?" she asked in a faint whisper.

I looked to the little wizard's clock on the mantle and squinted. We did not have much time, I realized. I must have slept the whole day through, as had she, for it was coming up fast on 11:00 pm. I sighed once again and helped Granger sit up. Her face contorted in pain and she barely noticed when the blanket fell away to reveal that she wore nothing. I looked away as I pulled the blanket up to cover her.

"It is late. We must hurry," I said.

She looked warily down at her body and appeared merely calmly surprised, "What has happened to me?" she asked with no emotion in her voice. Was she not frightened?

"My magic… You see, pure magic has a way of… well, it explodes. And you were closest and so… you were also the one affected," I stumbled through the explanation and then turned away hurriedly, going to my dresser to look for something for her to wear.

Obviously someone had already thought of Granger's lack of proper clothing, seeing as one of my drawers was occupied by solely women's clothing. I pulled out the clothing and stared at it for a moment. It was not a very sensible outfit, seeing as it was a startlingly virginal white. But I had to admit it was a fine set. I gathered it all in my arms and dumped it on the bed beside her.

I frowned when she struggled to stand. The blanket fell to the floor, once again revealing all of my hideous creation. I hurried to help her, my guilt rendering my helpless to her will. She stood there trembling for a full minute, her breath weary and heavy. I realized she could do no more and immediately assisted.

I was shocked to discover that they expected her to wear sinfully red undergarments, but helped her nonetheless. Next there was a white dress, form fitting with a complicated pattern of strings from her bottom to her shoulder blades, which were left bare to the world. I would have been impressed with the intricate design if the deep wounds had not been so blatantly revealed by it. I was thankful when I slipped the loose robes around her shoulders and they were covered. But through the thin robes I could still see the red of the cuts on her arms.

I handed her my comb and watched as she pulled the pearl teeth roughly through the weaving of knots. When she was done it was bushier then ever. I did the best I could with a loose braid down her back.

I was surprised when she spoke, "Why are you helping me?" she whispered, looking up at me with her empty, calculating brown eyes.

"Because I was ordered to," I replied coldly, leading her to a bowl of water where she could awaken and cleanse her face.

"I see." Her voice was distant and quiet.

When she was done and she turned to look at me, I finally realized how angry the Dark Lord was going to be with me. Dressed as she was in her ethereal white I realized that she was meant to look stunning. No doubt she would have, if not for me. Her shoulders were slumped and her body was limp with pain and obvious exhaustion. The purple beneath her eyes was prominent, the dryness of her lips startling, and the cuts were appalling.

"I'm sorry," I finally said in a fleeting voice.

Granger appeared startled for a moment but she recovered and looked away, her jaw tightening a fraction. She did not reply, just walked slowly to the bed and sat on its edge, her head lolling and her arms wrapping around her stomach. I stared at the fire from my chair and then looked at the clock. It was ten minutes to midnight.

There was a crack and a thump. I jumped up and brandished my wand, but lowered it at the sight of Crabbe, sprawled on the floor. He stumbled unceremoniously to his feet and then grinned lopsidedly at me, as if the whole world was something amusing. I scowled. Crabbe had done nothing but enjoy being a Death Eater. What was wrong with me that I was not the same?

"What do you want?" I questioned harshly.

Crabbe's smile slowly faded, "Uh, the Dark Lord wishes her," he jerked a thumb toward Granger, "presence at the graveyard."

My scowl only deepened as Crabbe disappeared with another loud crack. I wanted desperately to know what was going on. Why would he want her at the graveyard? Why was her execution being so elaborately planned out? I sighed and dragged myself to my feet. Her gaze was rapt on my, her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted. She looked for all the world like she would faint on the spot, but instead she got calmly to her feet and came when I summoned her to the door.

I frowned down at her bare feet, but realized that shoes would only aggravate the wounds there. I did not hesitate as I hauled her off the floor and carried her away. But I was disturbed by her. She did not gasp, nor did she give any change of expression, no sign of surprise. I scowled. There was something wrong with Hermione Granger. I did not know if I had time, but I was determined to find out what.

We walked in silence down the beaten path I had traveled myself almost two years ago.

I looked down at her face, her eyes now closed and her breathing even as she slept in my arms.

And I was grateful.

I was grateful that, for once, I was not alone.


	4. Draco Malfoy, Selfproclaimed Hero

Into the Wind  
By: Kigomae

Chapter Four: Draco Malfoy, Self-proclaimed Hero

**W**_e sat_ in the grass, staring out over the empty graveyard in silence. Her eyes kept on drifting closed as if she were exhausted, but I could not think of a reason why she should be so tired. I had awoken her upon our arrival to find only gravestones and eerie grey trees awaiting us. The branches rustled with sparse black leaves and above us the moon was barely visible between rain-swollen clouds. I could not think of any cause to linger. We had been waiting for well over an hour.

"Granger, we should go back to the house. We will catch our deaths out here waiting for nothing," I said quietly, my voice seeming like an interruption to some silent spell.

But when I rose and turned to her she just sat there, looking at me.

"No."

I scowled down at her, looking so small in her white garb, surrounded by the blackness of the graveyard, "No?"

"No," she replied gravely, giving me a helpless look as her eyebrows puckered. I could not comprehend what she was thinking, only that there were too many reasons swimming behind her brown eyes for me to pick through.

I didn't know what to do. I stared at her as she calmly fell back into the grass and let her eyes close once again. I wanted to do what any Malfoy in their right mind would do. I wanted to leave her there in the graveyard by herself. I wanted to leave her to her insanity and her pensive silence. I hated that she was so calm. I wanted to scream in her face.

But I found myself sitting back down in the grass beside her. Her eyelashes fluttered and she cast me a sidelong glance. I found myself gazing intently at her face, studying her brashly. Something was wrong with her. But then again, something was wrong with me, too. All the same, it seemed different with her. She was not as I knew her to be, a know-it-all, do-gooder mudblood. Could she do nothing to deserve my disdain? How I wanted her to fight me then.

Why was it that I was left in the dark? I could not tear my eyes from her, from the gash along her cheek that jumped out at me, taunting me with its crimson contrast to her pallid coloring. How had this come to be? I picked absently at the grass, trying to discern what was happening behind her closed eyelids. I was looking at a small freckle on the tip of her nose when I noticed that she was staring back at me.

Clearing my throat, I looked away. The rustle of her robes made my head snap back up just in time to see her run to the crest of the hill we sat upon. I thought she was trying to escape and was about to draw my wand when she stopped. Her braid bounced down her back with the wind and she looked over her shoulder at me, her face expectant. I sat there, unmoving and confused.

"Come on. We must go this way now," she said to me as if I should have already known.

"Why? Where are we going?" I asked, desperate for some answers.

"Come now. There is no time to waste," Granger urged, her expression pained and her hands frantically motioning for me to follow her. She disappeared over the hill. I had no choice but to follow.

"But where are we going?" I called as I ran after her.

When I caught up to her we stopped and she turned to me, "There, we are going there."

As she began her quick walk again, her breath shallow and faltering slightly, I followed the direction her finger had been pointing. In the valley below there stretched a mass of tombstones, but I knew to which one she pointed. Her bare feet carried her as if she knew the terrain well, but her eyes were nothing short of hysteric. When we came within a few feet of her destination she stumbled.

I caught her and gently lifted her off her feet. She had gone limp, as if something had instantly left her. I looked down at her and she looked up at me. I felt so disgusted with myself. In my arms was a mudblood, so vulnerable beneath my power, and all I could feel was some distorted version of sympathy.

It was the only kind of sympathy I could produce, this pity for her weakness. But it was laced with a jealousy I could not understand, an envy for her coolly realistic nature. I felt wild in her presence. I was an animal of instinct, a production of two creatures of evil gone horribly wrong. I felt revolutionized to fit the new ages of mixed blood, but brought up on the wrong side, trapped between two unlikely worlds.

And should I truly choose a side, neither world would accept me.

"What am I doing?" she asked me, her voice barely a whisper.

Did she want my reassurance or my scorn? I could not say.

"Your purpose eludes me, I am sorry to say," I murmured in response.

"Luckily I am present to make up for the stupidity of all the clueless twits around here. Ms. Granger, kindly remove yourself from Mr. Malfoy's person so I can… refresh your memory."

My gaze lingered for a moment on Granger's face, trying to detect any reaction to the startling and sudden presence of Severus Snape. I felt it like a physical blow, the brave way she glanced at Snape before wrapping her arms around my neck so she could drop her feet to the ground. There was no fear in her as she faced what I was sure was her certain death. I held my breath, hoping for any sign of hesitation that could somehow redeem my own cowardice.

I may have imagined her fingers lingering longer then necessary on my neck. But I knew her fear existed beneath her invisible mask as her hand clenched in my robe for one heart stopping moment, as if she was grasping my own meager strength in her palm for herself. I let her have it. I let her take it so she could console herself in a way I could not.

"I have no doubts, Snape. Clearly I should refresh _your _memory," she said. I was shocked and more than a little confused.

"Oh, that is entirely unnecessary."

She sneered, an expression I think she may have been borrowing from me, "If you say so," Granger said with a bold streak of criticism flashing across her face.

The sneer was disturbing. With that cut along her cheek she took on an astonishing transformation. A vulnerable young woman in the throws of something entirely too sinister for her, I realized. Maybe it was not that there was something wrong with her… Maybe the world around her was strange, the world of Lord Voldemort. She just did not fit here.

"Children, children, that's enough," said a voice from behind us.

Granger spun on her heels, which looked painful considering the cuts I knew were there on the bottom of her feet, " My Lord," she said breathlessly, her face flushing as she fell to her knees with a thump.

"Let us not delay any lo-" I flinched as I turned to see the Dark Lord peering speculatively at Hermione Granger's face, his lips pursed and his red eyes mere slits into his fiery soul.

"My Lord, you must understand that this incident was not intentional and we tried our best to heal the wounds, but the dark magic has infected her bloodstream and they will heal only with time," Snape stumbled through the drawn out explanation, obviously trying to smooth over Voldemort's anger.

Why was it such a dramatic deal? This girl would not be with us for very much longer and her appearance meant nothing unless the Dark Lord intended to have his way with her, which actually caused me to shudder. Granger just sat there, her face turned to the ground, the very picture of innocence. Was this her plan? Did she think bowing before Voldemort would earn his _mercy_?

"I ordered Ms. Granger left unharmed and treated with care," Voldemort ground out, his anger palpable in the air around them.

I felt my mouth go dry as the Death Eaters began to appear around us, their masked faces silently watching the scene unfold. I felt as bare and revealed as I had been that night two years ago. There were four of us without masks. The rest were gone into an obscure world. Now that I knew what that world felt like I was less inclined to take on the mask. But being so outside was unnerving.

"My Lord, I do not mean to interfere, but this seems to concern me. I must admit that the harm was my own fault, for I provoked what I should not have," Granger looked up with wide eyes. Did she think she was making things better?

Lord Voldemort eyed me suspiciously. I took a deep breath but did not follow my inclination to take a step back. I just watched as he put a finger under Granger's chin and lifted it until she was forced to stand. Her white robes billowed around her and suddenly they were on the ground, revealing the dress beneath and a sight that made me cringe. There were gasps all around me.

Voldemort stepped toward her until she was pressed against the Riddle tombstone, mere inches away from the Dark Lord. She was drawn up proudly to her full height, a full foot beneath him despite her 5'7" stand. I frowned, unsure of what was happening. Did he intend to take or something of the sort? I wanted nothing to do with such sordid affairs and almost turned my back. But I found that I could not. I desired nothing more then to run away. And I wanted to drag her with me.

He took her hand and placed a kiss upon it as if it were delicate and precious. I knew beneath her mask she was terrified. Was she thinking about heaven and hell, about what happened after death and where she would go? I wanted to know so badly that my tongue almost slipped to ask. Snape glared at me viciously as a small mumble escaped my lips.

The Dark Lord gazed intently at her wrist. I was so focused on his scrutiny, wondering what he was looking at, that I never saw it coming. My world crashed around me. Good turned to evil, everything was backwards and the chords of crimson plunging into Granger's forearm were snakes of tantalizing lies that had weaved through my life for years, for an entire lifetime. A lie, she was experiencing the lie that I had lived through for the past two years.

Part of me wanted desperately for her to see. She must see what I endured, why I did the things I did, what my life had become to make me so… Me. But Granger, Hermione Granger. She was so… Her, so Granger. What had she ever done to deserve this? She had never tortured first years. She had never believed the deceptions of a man entranced by the power his pure blood gave him. Once again the world was wrong.

So very, very wrong.

I saw the warning glance that Snape shot in my direction. I saw the masked faces close to me turning to peer at my curiously. But most of all I saw those little snakes plunging into Hermione Granger's innocent flesh, saw the wrongness of it, the total epitome of the backwards world I had suddenly entered.

In those moments I am not sure what I thought, exactly. It could have been guilt at the wrong I had done her with those wounds all over her body, or even all of those years back at Hogwarts when I had tortured her. It could have been those years building up inside of me and snapping, my control just disappearing when it came to Lord Voldemort. It was ridiculous what I had endured to earn his favor. Why should one more innocent have to be corrupted?

No one moved when I ran to the tombstone. What could they do? Never had one of their own physically turned against the Dark Lord. No one except me. He fell to the ground with a _thump_ and my hand swiped frantically through the streams of blood, breaking the bond that was forming between Granger and Voldemort. I gathered her in my arms like a small child and looked around for a way out.

"No, Malfoy. You can't save me, please. You can't suddenly be brave, not now, please not now," she whispered, her finger's clutching the front of my robes as I strode towards the nearest gap in the circle.

I ignored her plea and continued up the hill. When she began to kick I looked down at her face to see the pain there, the desperation. But I also saw that gash, that damnable cut that had condemned me to this fate from the moment it had appeared on her skin. Her eyes said take me away, but her mouth spoke words that made no sense, words of protest.

Suddenly her two cool hands were on my cheeks, forcing me to look directly into her gaze, "If you understand nothing, understand this: I want this," she said.

I said nothing in reply. So she began to kick and she began to scream. I held her as long as I could but halfway up the hill when I finally heard the frenzy I had expected coming from below I hauled her over my shoulder. With one arm around her legs and her head behind me I hurried along, trying to escape the wrath I knew was coming up fast behind me.

"Please, Malfoy," Granger cried.

The first emotion I heard from her was nothing like I expected.

I had assumed anger would be the first to show its claws.

But I was wrong.

"Harry, " she sobbed, her fists pounding against my back and her body shaking violently with her crying.

"Harry!"

Her fierce scream echoed through the valley and I was sure that everyone below could hear it.

"Harry," she whispered again as she went limp against me.

When I knew she was unconscious I cradled her in my arms.

I gave the only comfort I could offer.

And we ran away.

I knew I would never look back.

**O  
OO  
OOO  
OO  
O **

A/N: Yes, another chapter down! So, I decided to share my plans with everyone! This story is probably going to be about… 20 chapters long. And please, please, please tell me if I make any mistakes, contradict myself, completely confuse you, or just totally fuck everything up. I am known to do that….

Oh yeah, if you review I will gladly give you a cookie.

A really big one.


End file.
